The 39 clues fanfiction
by Soleil Artemis Lumiere
Summary: Cailin Kahl lives with the Holts, but when they picked the first clue at Grace's funeral, they definitely left her out. Cailin was on her own. will she be able to be the first to gather the 39 clues and find her father?
1. Chapter 1

1. Folly

I've just realized I'm the biggest fool on earth.

Grandma Grace died from cancer, so I went with the Holts to her funeral, that's when I made my biggest mistake.

During the funeral, some of the people attending were invited to Grandma Grace's will reading, including me. It was said that we are part of the greatest family ever, the Cahills. I know that. And I know that I'm part of the dumbest branch of four branches of Cahill; the Tomas. The Holts, my mother's family, are also part of it. I've been living with them ever since my father's death and my mother's disappearance. Life with the Holts s like hell. I get constant beating from Hamilton "Hammer" the oldest son and Madison, one of the twins. Reagan, the other twin, is nice to me, though.

And then we were given the choices; one million dollars or a clue.

You see, the whole Cahill family are into this scavenger hunt for 39 clues that might make the finder the greatest man of history. Many have searched for the clues and failed to find even one—even died in the process, but now it's practically under our noses. But the compared to one million dollar, why choose the clue and risk your butt?

Reasonable people should have chosen the money. I should have chosen the money, buy a nice little flat far from the Holts and the other Cahills and live peacefully on my own, but no, I have to pick the clue.

That's what my mistake was.

What got into my mind? I wouldn't stand a chance, I might even get myself killed considering how ruthless the other competitors are. They would do anything to be one step ahead. And I definitely lacks support. Everyone went as a team—except cousin Irina Spasky and Alistair Oh, but they are all experienced—and they all have resources. Ian and Natalie Kabra have money; The Starlings sure have people backing them up; Jonah Wizard the rapper has fame; Amy and Dan Cahill were close to Grandma Grace and she must have given them a lead or two, The Holts at least have on another although I wonder why the Holts have to take the clue. They are too stupid; well Reagan is rather smart, but nobody listens to her.

And when the Holts enrol their 'family' team, they definitely leave me out, despite I've been living with them for ten years.

I don't even know where to start.

RESOLUTION

The fine print to guess,

Seek out Richard S…

What the hell is this supposed to mean anyway?

"Miss Cailin Kahl, isn't it?" I see Mr. William McIntyre, Grandma Grace's solicitor, approaching me.

"Yes?"

"I wish you luck," he says.

"Thanks."

Then Mr. McIntyre leaves. The other teams also have left. I am alone. I sink deeper into the sofa, clutching my lucky wooden sword, hoping it might give me some inspiration.

2. ALLIANCE

I fell asleep.

How can it be? I look around the room. I'm all by myself; in a recently dead woman's house, no less!

Why the hell it's so hot here? I mean, this place is air conditioned, isn't it? Even though it's not, it can't be THIS hot! I turn to the window. I see smoke. I look out, then I see flame tongue licking this house to ashes.

Then I realize I'm caught in a fire.

Uh-oh, what should I do?

I run to the door. It's locked.

I'm doomed.

I ram the door as hard as I can, yelling for help. The fire hasn't reached this room, but it will. And I have no means to escape. The fire is still burning right below the window, so there's no way I can jump out. If I open the window, the fire might burst right in. I'm hopeless. There's no use hitting the door or screaming till my voice is hoarse, there's nobody here.

I know I'm dying, and I haven't even started with the hunt yet.

And then the door is slammed open.

A lean figure was standing at the door way, small fires are burning on the hallway outside. And then the figure holds out its hand to me, "Let's get out of here!"

I don't even bother to look who my saviour is.


	2. Chapter 2

2. ALLIANCE

I fell asleep.

How can it be? I look around the room. I'm all by myself; in a recently dead woman's house, no less!

Why the hell it's so hot here? I mean, this place is air conditioned, isn't it? Even though it's not, it can't be THIS hot! I turn to the window. I see smoke. I look out, then I see flame tongue licking this house to ashes.

Then I realize I'm caught in a fire.

Uh-oh, what should I do?

I run to the door. It's locked.

I'm doomed.

I ram the door as hard as I can, yelling for help, my wooden sword still tight in my fist. The fire hasn't reached this room, but it will. And I have no means to escape. The fire is still burning right below the window, so there's no way I can jump out. If I open the window, the fire might burst right in. I'm hopeless. There's no use hitting the door or screaming till my voice is hoarse, there's nobody here.

I know I'm dying, and I haven't even started with the hunt yet.

And then the door is slammed open.

A lean figure was standing at the door way, small fires are burning on the hallway outside. And then the figure holds out its hand to me, "Let's get out of here!"

I don't even bother to look who my saviour is. All I can think of is a way to escape, and here it is. My chance to escape.

"We've got to get out of here! Hold your breath!"

That guy grabs my hand and runs down the hallway. I try my best to follow, it's hard to dodge the fire and I can barely see my way. The smoke is pricking my eyes and everything looks red. My chest hurts too.

My head starts spinning. Must be lack of oxygen. I can't think of anything at all. I just keep running and running.

Finally I see something that's not red or yellow. Finally I can feel cool breeze on my skin. Finally I can breathe without fearing I would choke smoke.

My hand leans on a tree nearby. My legs can hardly support my body after all those running. Even the guy who dragged me out of that burning hell falls flat on the ground. I hold my hand out to help him stand up, "Thanks for the trouble. I would have been burnt to ashes if you hadn't showed up."

He takes my hand and stand up. He is still quite young, maybe in early 20s or so, but I know better than guess people's ages from their looks. Everybody who doesn't know me will say that I'm eighteen while truth is I'm far younger than that. His hair is blue-black and he wears glasses. His sooty skin is so pale as if he's never been out under the sun at all, "Don't mention it. No pain, no gain," he sounds like he still feels breathless, "Cailin, isn't it?"

"Yeah, you were at the will-reading too, right? Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"It's Tristan. A pleasure to get acquainted with you," he smiles. His teeth look like a toothpaste advertisement.

Tristan. NOW I remember. Tristan Fleming, the inventor of life-like pet androids for children. The one who just won a Nobel for creating the first thing closest to a living being at the age of 23. However, that's not quite the point.

The point is, Tristan Fleming is an EKAT. Yeah, I owe my life to an Ekat. This looks real ugly. The Tomases has never got along with the Ekaterinas. We're told that the Ekaterina branch is the most spiteful group of geeky cowards who look down upon us, so we're supposed to hate them back because we are so much better than them. I personally don't quite understand what the matter between both branches is and I care the least. However, consorting with an ancestral enemy has never been a good idea.

But if it weren't for this Ekat guy, I would be grilled Cailin.

But then, if I think about it, how could he know I'm locked in the living room? After all he said 'no pain no gain'. He must have been up to something. I'm sure of it.

I clutch my wooden sword tighter for moral boost. I'd better get away from him. He might be up to no good.

"Yeah, Tristan, thank's a lot, once again. If you need me, just call me, mail me, whatever. To return the favour, okay?" I take several steps backwards, "I-I gotta go!"

I turn my back at once and start to sprint away.

"Wait!"

Ugh, he notices I'm getting away! I have no choice but to stop. I do owe him a favour. A big one, too. He risked himself to get me out of the burning mansion.

Actually, I'm a bit curious. What does he actually want me for so bad that he even go through the trouble to rescue me?

Or… Could he be the one who set the fire? And the one who locked me up, then rescue me in the last minute just so I would do what he ask?

"Cailin, about the clue hunting…," he starts.

"Y-yes?"

Should I just run now? Or should I stay?

"Let's form an alliance," Tristan says.


	3. Chapter 3

3. LINK

"A-Alliance?" my tongue stumbles. I still can't quite believe what he just said. He offered an ALLIANCE. This can't be possible.

"Exactly," that is Tristan's short reply. He still looks the same as he did before, calm and collected. It's as if he hasn't just offered to be comrade-in-arms with a Tomas whereas he himself is an Ekaterina.

In other word, he has just offered an alliance to his ancestral enemy.

It's not like I have anything against Tristan. I barely know him. However, this is the most unusual. Something cheeky is happening. Him rescuing me from the fire is already weird, and now, an alliance! He must be up to something; there is no other way around!

"…I-I don't know…," I try my best to put my thought into words without offending him, "I don't know… I don't know if I can trust you…"

He doesn't flinch.

"I'm very grateful you rescued me and all, but we barely know each other. What benefit can I give to you from this alliance? I still don't even believe I have taken up this crazy challenge and I don't even know what I'm going to do next. I…," I no longer think of making up words. I just babble everything away in the end. Foolish Cailin.

"So you're not sure why I bother helping you and offering an alliance, do I get it right?" Tristan replies. He doesn't seem the least surprised.

Then he produces something from the inside of his jacket, an old worn leather-bound book. Then he offers it to me, "I have this."

"What is it?"

"Take it, Cailin," Tristan manages a smile, "You'll see."

I'm puzzled. What is actually happening now? I feel reluctant to take the book from him, but I do so anyway. I just hold it in my hands and stare at its cover. Should I open it?

"Go ahead, open I," did I just say my query to myself out loud?

I force my finger to turn the leather cover, then I see a line of letters beautifully written—no, carved—on the very first yellowing page.

Alexander Kahl.

It's as if something is tugging at my mind. I must have breathed in too much smoke before. Now I can clearly remember reason. I can recall what the hell made me accept the challenge to hunt the 39 clues, even though I knew I'd be on my own through all of this bizarre.

I want to find my mother and father. Everyone says that mother went exploring some unknown land for her job, but deep inside I somehow know her disappearance is related to the clues. And my father… nobody ever talks about it him. It's as if he only lived in the tales mother told me when I was no more than a toddler; tales I somehow can never forget despite the years that have passed by. I don't even know whether those stories about my father were true. My mother could have made it all up so I would stop raiding her with questions about him. I have always longed to know about my father. I have always been desperately waiting for a clue; a link to his presence, a link that might bring me to him.

And my father's name happens to be Alexander Kahl; the very name written on the old book.

"Th-this is…," I'm speechless.

"Yes," I hear Tristan voice says. The voice somehow sounds distant, "The book belongs to Alex Kahl. This is your father's journal."

I have always longed to know about my father. I have always been desperately waiting for a clue; a link to his presence, a link that might bring me to him.

And here it is. Right within my grasp. This book is what I have been waiting for, the link that would bring me to my father.

I tighten my grip on the book. My attention turns to Tristan, "Where do you get this book?"

"Alex gave it to me and personally asked me to give it to you. He asked me to look after you, which is precisely why I would like to form an alliance with you."

The alliance can go to hell, "Do you know my father? You have to know! Where he is? I want to see him! Tell me where he is now!"

Tristan's expression suddenly turns dark. Something's not right, but I don't care. The world might as well end right now, but I have to know my father's whereabouts right now. I have to see him.

"Come on! Tell me!" I urge Tristan to speak.

"Your father… I'm sorry, Cailin."

I definitely don't like the tone in Tristan's voice right now.

"I'm sorry. Alex… he is dead."


	4. Chapter 4

4. FAIRY TALE

A four-year-old girl ran toward her young mother. Everyone could clearly see their resemblance; from the messy red-gold hair to the mild cream skin. The only striking difference lay in their eyes. The mother's eyes were deep sapphire blue while the daughter's were green as emerald.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

"What is it, Cailin?" the mother settled the little girl on her lap.

"Mommy," Cailin's eyes gleamed with curiosity, "Where is my daddy?"

Emmeline Holt's expression hardened. It's as if she hadn't expected that kind of question from her daughter's little lips. She remained silent for a while, then the tension eased. Emmelin managed a smile, "Daddy is working. His work is to travel around the world! Aren't you proud of him?"

Cailin's face brightened with admiration, "Awesome! Will Daddy bring Cailin too someday? And Mommy!"

"Of course, he will, honey! When you grow up, the three of us will travel around the world!"

As if unsatisfied with one question, Cailin asked another, "Mommy, how does Daddy look like?"

"Oh, he is very so handsome!" Emmeline replied, "Everything about him is so beautiful, especially his eyes! They are the most adorable thing in the world. And they look just like yours, Cailin!"

"Really?" Cailin became more excited, "Very handsome? Like the Prince Charming in Mommy's stories?"

"Even more handsome! And he has a story too!"

"A story? Tell me! Tell me1"

Emmeline looked up. Her face was filled with some kind of longing. Then she started her story, "Once upon a time, in a deep jungle, there was a lady who was fighting with a tiger."

"Oh, no! Is the tiger scary?"

"The tiger was VERY scary! Its eyes were big and wild, his teeth was big and sharp and ready to bite everything in sight, including the lady it was facing!"

"No! What happened next, Mommy? Please, please don't say the tiger bit the lady!"

"Of course not, darling. However, it was a very close encounter. The lady was weak and tired while the tiger was stronger and ferocious. The lady almost gave up hope, but she didn't. Remember this Cailin, never give up hope."

"Yes, Mommy! I won't forget! What happen next?"

"The tiger was right in front of the lady. Its mouth was open wide, baring its fangs. However, somebody shot the evil tiger and it fell down dead."

"Phew. Who did it, Mommy? Who shot the tiger? It was good that the lady didn't get eaten, but poor tiger…," Cailin looked sad.

"Yes, poor tiger, but it couldn't be helped."

"So, who shot the tiger?"

"Right. From behind the trees, a handsome young man with beautiful green eyes appeared, he was holding a rifle. He was the one who shot the tiger."

"And then, the lady saw her hero—"

"Did they fall in love, Mommy?"

"Yes, they did. It was love at the first sight," Emmeline smiled dreamily.

"Aw, so sweet…"

"Love at the first sight was indeed very sweet. But what came next was even sweeter. The young man swept the lady off of her feet and brought her out of the jungle. They got married at once in a church. The lady wore a very beautiful white dress while the young man wore black suit. There was no other couple who looked happier and prettier than them."

"They lived together in a pretty little countryside. They created their own world together and filled each other's days with happiness. And they had a child. A pretty little girl with red hair as red as the lady's and green eyes as green as the young man's."

"Oh, so sweet… Did they live happily every after?"

"Do not interrupt, honey. The story hasn't ended yet! The couple and their little daughter were living in their own world. They forgot everything, their old family, their hometown, everything, for when you were in love, nothing mattered anymore."

"Knowledge barged in like a thunder that cracked the bond between them. They found out that the lady's family and the young man's family were ancient enemies. They were forced to separate. The young man's family sent him to travel around the world and work while the lady and her daughter was sent back to her brother's home."

"No! That is so very sad! Did they ever meet again?"

"No, darling, not yet. Reunion should wait for a special, sacred moment. It might be tonight, tomorrow, or many years later. But the lady is still waiting until the present. She's still waiting for her hero, waiting for the happy end of her story."

"That's a very beautiful story, Mommy, like a fairy tale! But doesn't she get tired of waiting? Waiting can be very boring!"

"No! She didn't tire of waiting because she believed in her own fairy tale, although people rarely believed in fairy tale anymore. However long the waiting is, she knows she can live it through, because if she keeps on believing, her tale will surely come true."

"Mommy, is the young man in the story my Daddy? And the lady, is she you, Mommy?" Cailin drowsily asked.

Emmeline didn't reply. She only smiled weakly. The same longing hadn't vanished from her face as she watched Cailin slowly fell asleep.

***

As Cailin grew older, she somehow felt that the stories Emmeline told her were no more than a random bedtime story, however, deep in her heart she wanted to believe it really was the story of her parents. Didn't her mother said herself that if you believed in fairy tale, it would come true?

Cailin was no older than seven years old when she peeked into the front porch of the Holts' house at dawn. Nobody suspected she was wide awake. She woke up too early and decided to take a walk outside. She found her mother and her uncle, Eisenhower Holt, engaging a conversation. Cailin decided not to let them see her around.

"Accept it already, Emmy, that bastard Ekat is dead! Your 'correspondent' have told you very clearly in the last letter!" Eisenhower emphasized his tone on the word 'correspondent'.

Cailin had no idea what they were talking about, but she stayed put and kept on listening.

"No, I don't believe it! I won't believe it until I see for myself! Alex wouldn't leave me before he returned to me! He promised!" Emmeline insisted.

"It's just a promise, Emmy! Come to your sense already! People can die anytime! You can't expect him to fly to you from his deathbed, can you? Snap out of it!"

"You. Are. Not. Talking. Me. Out. Of. This! You might be my brother, but you don't control my life! Nobody controls my life, not even the Tomas leader! I shouldn't have listened to you six years ago! I should have left with Alex a long time ago! I can't go back in time, but this time I will find him! If he can't get me, I will go to him myself! None of you can keep me away from my Alex!"

"Emmeline! You know it's best for you to stay among us, your family! You can't choose that Ekat bastard over us, who knows what he and his fellow geeks would do to you? They would only make you suffer more! And what about Cailin? Are you going to leave her alone?"

"No, I'm not leaving my Cailin alone. I'm leaving her with you. Once I've found Alex, we will return together to pick her up! Goodbye, Eisenhower, send my best regards to Mary-Todd and the kids. And take care of my little girl, will you?"

Before Cailin's own eyes, she saw her mother turned her back and walked away; every step closer out of the house, closer to leaving her.

"Emmeline!" Eisenhower yelled again in commanding voice. When they were kids, his yell always worked to make Emmeline face him and stay, however, they were no longer children. They were adults. His sister had her own mind and nobody could interfere anymore.

Eisenhower felt hopeless. There was nothing he could do to stop Emmeline.

Eisenhower was wrong. Emmeline stopped and turned her head towards him right before she walked out of the front gate forever.

"One more thing, Alex is not a bastard. I love him."

Emmeline's tone was so cold it chilled the stern Eisenhower's spine. This time, there really was nothing that could stop Emmeline. She was gone.

***

Cailin stands erectly. Her hand still clutches her father's journal. Tristan looked at her with concerned look. He has his own doubt and regret in his eyes. Doubt if he made the right choice to bring the news of the death of Cailin's father, and regret that now he knows it indeed wasn't the right choice.

Cailin finally puts two and two together. How could she forget the day her mother walked away from the Holts' house and left her? How could she forget the conversation she overheard?

How could she forget her father, Alexander Kahl, was an Ekaterina?

Maybe her mother's story weren't entirely mere fairy tale. Maybe there were exaggerations, but the part about the families that antagonized each other was definitely true. The Tomas scorned the Ekaterina and vice-versa.

But Emmeline Holt, daughter of Thomas, and Alexander Kahl, son of Katherine, had buried the hatred between them. Instead, love grew. But the two branches tried to separate them. The Ekaterina sent Alex to 'work' and travel around the world; to find the 39 clues, no doubt. And Emmeline was brought back to live with the Holts.

And when Cailin's mother heard the news of her husband's death, she left Cailin with the Holts to find Alex, refusing to believe he had truly gone from the world.

But Emmeline went for naught, didn't she? Had she found anything in her search for her lost love?

No, she hadn't. Instead, she left Cailin behind to a wild goose hunt to find her.


	5. Chapter 5

5. HER WAY

It was a typical family mealtime for the Holts who always eat as if they haven't seen food in ten years. Each of them is too busy chewing to talk, except Reagan. She hasn't touched his meal at all, which is very unusual. The Holts never refuse food.

"If you don't want your lasagne, I'll gladly finish it for you!" Hamilton 'Hammer' Holt pokes his sister's head.

"Hmph!" Reagan throws her face.

"Oi! I'm really eating your lasagne!" Hamilton's fork is ready. Reagan doesn't respond, "Mum! Reagan's turned mute!"

"Why won't you eat, Reagan?" Mary-Todd Holt asks her daughter. Reagan still won't speak.

"I told you, Mum, she's mute!" says Hamilton.

"Shuddup, Ham! Reagan's just sulking up," Madison, Reagan's twin, chimes in, "We left her playmate back in ol' Grace's house, remember?"

"Eat, Reagan! A champion doesn't sulk!" Eisenhower speaks, his voice commanding.

"You're cruel," that's all Reagan manages to say.

"A champion should do what is necessary. We can't have her with us," Eisenhower coldly replies.

Reagan's brows come together angrily, "But she might be killed in there! YOU burnt her alive!" she stands up and runs into the van.

"Reagan!"

"I'm finished," Hamilton puts down his fork and stands up, Madison did the same and says, "Me too."

Eisenhower and Mary-Todd were left alone with the mess on the table. Eisenhower's face was stern, serious, and a bit… remorseful…, "She couldn't have been too dumb to get herself locked in that bloody house, right?"

"…," Mary-Todd goes silent. She hated to say the truth, but she ought to, "We didn't see her coming out. Nobody did.

"When I leave her out of the team, I thought she would just pick the money and settle down. I never thought…"

"I know, my dear," Mary-Todd replies. Her expression is of concern. Both she and Eisenhower know their niece has never been the adventurous sort. She isn't made of the same sternness her cousins were born with. They know Cailin would never throw herself into trouble since she likes to be secure; the hunt for the 39 clues definitely is far from security. A million dollar is. However, that day, she had proven them wrong. Cailin, all alone, has joined the clue hunt. She can be surprising sometimes, quite like her mother. However, Mary-Todd knows better than mention her husband's missing sister to him.

Eisenhower gulps and puts on a determined face, "That's fine," he says as if to reassure himself, "She has chosen to walk her way. We'll walk on ours. If she wants to rival us in this hunt, we will face her head on, no mercy."

"We WILL find the clues at all cost," the hunt is very precious to Eisenhower, the only way for him to restore his credibility among the Tomas branch; the only way for him to restore his pride.


	6. Chapter 6

6. RICHARD S

"Don't you have any idea who might have locked you up in the manor?" Tristan asks without turning his vision from the road. He is driving us on his BMW for some time. We are on the way to the public library. Where else can be better to start a little research?

I accepted his offer for an alliance. I've decided to see how things turn out. I know I wouldn't stand a chance on my own. I have nothing to lose. Moreover, he knew my father. He might know something about his last whereabouts. It might lead me to my mother.

So my father is dead, but my mother is still lost out there. I HAVE to seek her out.

By the way, I can't understand a single thing my father wrote in his journal. It's all in old Irish language! Tristan can't read it either. We might have to look for a translator, but it would be dangerous to let a stranger read that journal. It is clear that Alex Kahl had been a clue hunter. There's a high chance that book might contain something related to the clues. If only I could read it!

"I have the slightest idea. What would this person get by locking me up anyway?" I respond to Tristan's question.

"To kill you? So you won't have a chance to escape the fire?"

"I don't think anyone holds grudge to me bad enough that they would try to kill me."

"Welcome to the clue hunt, Cailin. One doesn't have to hold grudge to kill. If someone holds a threat, that particular someone will be very likely sent to early grave."

"I don't think I'm enough threat either. Anyway, who set the fire? Maybe the arsonist was the one who locked me in that bloody house."

Tristan shrugged, "I did see Hamilton Holt lurking around a second before the fire exploded."

"Hamilton?"

The Holts did it? They burnt the house? And locked me and left me to burn to ashes? How could they…

How could they try to kill me?

I've never liked Uncle Eisenhower and all his military talk. He's a miserable old sod and I totally understand the Tomas for making him an outcast. Aunt Mary-Todd isn't as bad and she does bake wonderful brownies, but I hate it when she made me study Physics for Fools with the others. I fought Hamilton and got beaten badly when he threw Jimmy Littleman into the trash bin on many occasions, but he can be such a gentleman, like once in a million years. Madison and Reagan need someone to talk them out of violence on impulse, but Reagan is like my only friend in the world..

I've known the Holts forever. There are many times I want to run far away from them, but they almost feel like family.

They tried to kill me.

I really don't know how I ought to be feeling.

"Amy and Dan Cahill was caught in the fire too. They barely escaped. There was another suspicious man wearing all black who fled when the young Cahills were gone," Tristan continues.

"Oh."

The car stops in front of the city library. I've never been in the library before, I'm not the bookish type unless when it comes to shonen manga. However, Tristan seems to be a regular visitor, seeing how the librarian greets him as we enter.

"Let's start with Richard S," Tristan says, his thumb pointing at the computer rows at one corner of the giant room called library, "Why don't you look for something on the net? I'll search the shelves."

"Sounds great," _seek out Richard S._ Right, Mr. Google knows everything, why hadn't I thought about it before? Hidden intention or no, I would be toast without Tristan. Both literally and implicitly.

I go and switch on one of the computers. It takes forever until the desktop screen appears. I double-click the browser, open Google and type up Richard S. A bazillion random Richard Ss appear on the screen. Richard S. exchange vows with a Hawaiian king's descendant under the sea; Richard S. found torn pieces of banknotes worth $ 999 billions in a trash bin; Richard S. tripped and fell down Niagara Falls….

Oh, bugger. I can't be supposed to read all these junks, right?

Let's try 'Resolution Richard S'.

Oh, well, I think I'll never find the right Richard S. Even if I do, it won't be until a bazillion years later.

Let's try to be logical now. this is a clue. It must be something common or nobody would ever solve it. So, the most common one has high chance to be the RIGHT Richard.

The most common one will be on the top of the list.

_Memorial Resolution: Richard S. Shevell._

Gotcha.

Right below it is _600 Proverbs from Poor Richard's Almanac by Benjamin Franklin a.k.a. Richard Saunders._ This one is more familiar. At least Benjamin Franklin is familiar. They say he is a Cahill; a Lucian. The weird thing is that he writes proverbs; wasn't he an inventor or something like that?

_The World is full of fools and faint hearts; and yet every one has courage enough to bear the misfortunes, and wisdom enough to manage the Affairs of his neighbour._That's a good one, I dare say!

Let's ponder again. We're researching a Cahill clue. It has got to have something to do with a Cahill. Franklin is a Cahill. Heck, he's even more likely to be the real Richard S than Shevell.

"So what have you got?" Tristan comes with an old book.

"I don't know, I single these two out; Richard S. Shevell and Benjamin Franklin, I bet on Franklin, though. He's a Cahill, right?" I tell him.

"I found Benjamin Franklin too," Tristan shows me the old book's cover; the proverb book, "But I've heard of Shevell. He's an Ekat. Not so famous, but he used to be quite an influential aeronautical designer. There's also a possibility that he's our Richard."

Nah, I've never heard about an Ekat called Richard S. Shevell. Two Richard S, two Cahills, two possibility, not including the other Richard who fell down Niagara. Perfect.

"So…," I try to think of a way to investigate, "Are we splitting up or something?"

Don't split up. Don't split up. Don't split up. I'd been almost killed in mere seconds after the hunt started; and I didn't even have a clue of what I was doing! Now that I have a lead, the chance someone else would try to kill me AGAIN shall be twice as bad. Don't split up. Don't split up. Don't split up.

"There's no need. All other teams are on Franklin's track," Tristan coolly says.

Yeah! I'm saved!

"So Franklin is the right one after all."

"Most likely, but we'll go after Shevell instead."

"Eh?" I'm rather surprised. If we are positive the other hunters are after Franklin, isn't that an absolute benediction that Franklin is the Richard S we ought to seek? How does Tristan know they are going after Franklin anyway?

"Don't worry," Tristan makes a mysterious smile, "We'll get whatever clue they find without having to lay a hand. We can concentrate on Shevell. If we find a clue, we get TWO clues; if we don't, nothing's lost."

"B-but how? How can we get their clue without doing a thing?"

"I bug them, of course."


	7. Chapter 7

7. MIDNIGHT GUEST

Tristan sits alone in his study. Cailin is asleep in the guest room. Tomorrow, they will fly to Washington D.C. to check the National Aeronautical Museum in hope of finding something about Richard Shevell. From then on, he might won't be able to return home for a very long time. There's no telling of when the clue hunt is going to end. Tristan wants to spend his last hours home with his books. He doesn't hide his book collection and guard it with fierce guard dogs like Uncle Alistair did, but he loves his own books as much as he does. They are treasure. They are memories.

When Tristan looks at the bookshelves that lean against the walls of his study, he will be reminded of Alexander Kahl. Alex was his mentor; he was the one who introduced him to all the greatness one simple book might keep. Tristan picked one thick book, The Count of Monte Cristo. It was Alex's favourite. When he was too young to read such serious book, Alex would read to him as they were on a bus to explore one corner of the world. Tristan misses all those moments he shared with Alex, he misses the silent moments when they were deep in their books, he misses their journey, he misses their adventure.

If only Alex had not died in that accident.

No. If only Alex had not been murdered in that accident.

Yes. Murder. The police officers wouldn't believe him back then. Of course they wouldn't. Who would give a damn to a thirteen-year-old little boy who had just woken up from comatose?

But Tristan knew. He didn't need to check the remnants of the car to suspect that someone intentionally tried to kill them. He had, however, sneaked into the accident scene once he regained consciousness. Someone had cut the brake lines. If one looked careful enough, one could easily notice that it wasn't natural.

The same thing had happened three years ago. And that time, it was Tristan's own parents who were the victims. No one believed him that time either. But Alex believed. And Uncle Alistair. He used to be close to Uncle Alistair when he was a kid, but he became distant since the incident that took his parents' lives.

Then Alex came around.

But then he's gone too. Most likely by the hands of the same monster who killed Tristan's parents.

"Tristan."

A gentle woman voice startles Tristan. He turns towards the now open window. There stood a figure of a mature woman with wavy dark brown hair and big round eyes standing beside the window. her face looks calm, but her hands are shaking slightly.

"Louisa…," Tristan tries to regain his cold composure, "I thought you had given up sneaking into people's private residence a long time ago."

"Order comes first," the woman replies. She approaches Tristan who stands still. There is an awkward silent between them. Then Louisa breaks the silence, "You know why I'm here."

"Why, I have no idea," there is something in Tristan's voice that sounds like denial.

"Give me the book."

"What book?" Tristan does not really need to ask. The first time Tristan heard Louisa's voice that night, a thought came to his mind. A thought that he would never admit to her. The next second, he realized that his was simply hoping. It's funny because he thought he had given up on that hope long ago.

Tristan knows exactly what Louisa's looking for.

"You know what I mean. I want Alex Kahl's journal."

Tristan forces a cold smile, "If that's what you are looking for, you are too late. I don't have it anymore."

"Don't lie, Tris. This is not the first time I _kindly _ask you for that book. This time, the order is to take it by force."

Louisa steps closer, "I don't want to hurt you. It would be just the same as hurting myself."

Tristan steps back, "Save your smooth-talking for someone else more ignorant. I don't have the book. I've given it back to the rightful owner."

"Alexander Kahl is dead!" Louisa remarks.

"Yes, he is."

"Then to whom did you give that book to?"

"The only one who deserves it."

Louisa's expression changes in an instant. Her tanned skin goes pale. "You've found her. You've found the daughter."

"Even if I do, I won't discuss it with you. Now please leave. There are people who are eager to throw house-breaker like you behind bars. I can show you the proper way out," Tristan says as he walks to the door, giving his back to her. His hand instructs Louisa to follow him.

"I'd rather take the back way, thank you."

Tristan stops walking, but he does not turn back to see Louisa jumps to the window and leaps into the night.


	8. Chapter 8

8. SHEVELL'S HOUSE

If you think that the National Aeronautical Museum is exciting, I'm more than ready to prove you wrong. When we were on our way here, I thought I'm going to see rockets or something like that, but I'm greatly disappointed in the end. All I got to see is toy planes and boring blueprints. The sketches on the blueprints aren't even good or artistic, I dare say I can draw better myself.

Boring as it may, I have to keep my mind on the goal. We're here to look for hints to Shevell's clue, if there's any. It's not so easy, you know, having to look for something that might not even exist.

"Are all Shevell's blueprint and models authentic?" Tristan asks the museum manager. Yeah, I guess if all these are fake, there's no use in searching and analyzing every single thing. I didn't even think about it.

"No, Sir, we only exhibit replicas," the manager replies.

Dang.

"All original works of Mr. Shevell are exhibited in his house at Atherton."

Tristan and I are standing in front of Richard S. Shevell's house. I can describe it in one word: BIG.

Yeah, that house is gigantic. If the Holts' house were that big, I might would be happier there. Really. The garden seems to be edgeless. All is covered by refreshing green lawn and there's even a white vintage swing. I've always loved to sit on a swing, but if you play on it when you're older than six, you're busted. Everyone won't stop making fun of you for years. I absolutely don't want to risk it if you're living with a bunch of bullies..

The main building looks nice too. It's a vintage brick two-storey house with an attic. The windowsills are painted white and there are pots of flowers hanging just below the windows. Yeah, I like that kind of building. Hammer's going to accuse me for being a sissy if he heard me said it out loud. Once again I feel relieved I'm not with the Holts anymore.

"Let's get in, shall we?" Tristan walks before me. I follow. He paid the entrance fee for both of us as we enter the white door. The first room we see do not look like a museum at all. It's more like a sitting room with big framed blueprints hanging on the wall. We walk on. The rest of the house isn't far different from the museum. Boring. I said I'd be happy if the Holts' house were this big, did I? I take it back. I don't want to live in a house filled with ugly ineligible sketches.

"What are we actually looking for?" I ask Tristan.

"Clue, hidden message, anything weird, we can't know precisely," he replies coolly.

I sigh. It's definitely not easy to search something when you don't know what to look for. In fact, it's REAL hard. I mean, if I have to look for something weird, everything is weird to me! I mean, Shevell himself is weird. Who would spend his whole life making toy airplanes? Definitely not a normal person.

We wander about, looking for details. I don't know if Tristan can actually find something, but there's nothing special in my eyes.

"We desperately need to see the script room! Can you not really let us in?" I hear somebody beg as we walk around. We go closer and find two boys arguing with a fat officer with pink round face.

"No way, kids! You can't enter the script room! Why the hell do you want to go in anyway? There's nothing but papers!" says the officer.

"But, sir," the boy with darker hair complains, "Our teacher assigned us to do a research on Mr. Shevell's round the world flight in the 80s! We've been looking for his travel log everywhere but we can't find it. The script room is our only hope! I bet that's where Mr. Shevell keeps the log. And if we don't get this vital information, we will have to repeat the year!"

The officer shakes his chubby head, "You can't fool me, kiddo, Richard Shevell NEVER went on a round the world flight, at least not in the 80s! And you can try to make up a better story but I'm not going to let you in! Now you'd better go home to your mommy!"

"We don't have any mommy," the other boy with blond hair replies candidly.

"And our home is in England! We've flown ALL THE WAY here just to see the script room! Please, let us in! Please!" the dark-haired boy adds dramatically.

"I've said no and I stick to my word! Stop pleading nonsense or I'll kick you out and PNG you!" with that, the officer pulls open the door behind him, goes inside, and shuts the door.

"You could have got us through with the assignment hoax if you hadn't added up the round-the-world trip part, Jason," says the blond boy flatly, "And the drama creeps me out."

"Gee, shut up, Kevin! Like you could help! That officer's such a pig. No, I don't meant that literally, but I guess that's a close call," Jason mumbles, "By the way, what's PNG?"

"To put it simply for your dope brain, we won't be allowed to enter this place," Kevin sighs, "Aunt Isabel will kill me."

Isabel? That name rings a bell.

Well, it must be a coincidence. I bet there are a million people called Isabel.

I look at Tristan only to find he's walked towards the two boys, asking the question that just came to my mind in much more pleasant way, "Good afternoon, do you happen to be acquainted with Isabel Kabra?"

"N—"

"Yeah, Kevin's her nephew. Kind of."

I see Kevin hit his forehead with his palm. His face goes, "You messed it all up."

So my guess seems to be right. They must be Lucians. Isabel Kabra is the wife of Lucian branch leader and mother to Ian and Natalie. I don't really know her, but I've seen her several times and heard about her—ruthlessness. But then it's not a surprise, she's a Lucian after all. That's how all Lucians are, heartless demons.

"Let's have a talk somewhere else," Tristan suggests.


	9. Chapter 9

9. A LUCIAN AND A JANUS

So here we are; me, Tristan, and the two boys from Shevell's house, Kevin and Jason, in a family restaurant in Atherton. The restaurant banner says, "Ruffini's House, the best hot Italian food for hungry bellies."

I think I've heard about 'ruffini' once somewhere… Where was it? Biology class? It seems like it has something to do with skin… or is it a name of pasta? Geez, I can't remember it.

Anyway, we've been sitting here for what seems like forever, looking at the menus. All the food name is weird and there's no explanation of what's in the food, so I just close my eyes and pick whichever my finger meets. All five fingers land on five different food, so those are what I'm ordering. Tristan doesn't seem to mind (He's treating, for your information. But hey, he's the one with platinum AmEx.) The only thing that makes me wonder is that the banner says "The best HOT Italian food," but they sell ice cream, which is best served cold.

"I'm Tristan Flemming, and this is Cailin Kahl," Tristan broke the silence, "Both of you, I believe, are Cahills. Part of the Lucian branch, am I right?"

"N—" Jason, the blond one, tries to say something, but Kevin cuts him, "Jason's the Lucian. I'm Janus."

Jason hits his head with his palm again and makes the same expression as when Kevin told us that he was related to Isabel Kabra, kind of.

"What about you? The two of you must be Cahills too, right?" Jason finally lifts his head and speaks up.

"Yes. I'm from the Ekaterina branch. She's a Tomas."

"Whoa," Kevin remarks, "Tomas-Ekat alliance? This isn't something you see everyday!"

"Anyway, why are you here, snooping around about Richard Shevell?" Tristan interrogates.

"Er, We've got school—"

"We won't buy the assignment excuse. Tell us the truth, what are you doing here?"

I'm afraid Tristan is pushing it. I wonder if it's wise for him to be so straightforward. He could have pretended to be an ignorant nobody who took interest in some punks, couldn't he? Or could he? Well, even if he could, I have no idea how he's going to pull it off.

Jason sends his friend a look that says, "I'm out of this. You take care of it."

It seems like Kevin gets the message since he starts babbling, "Isabel Kabra told Jason that there's a possibility that Richard Shevell might be related to a certain clue and she sent him to sleuth around. I'm just helping."

"And you thought there might be something hidden in Shevell's old letters and travel log, so you wanted to see the script room in the museum, I suppose?"

The two boys nod. I can see their point. I bet letters has better chance in hiding something than stupid drawings and models. Looking through letters must be easier—unless Shevell's handwriting is ugly, that's it.

We go silent again. Geez, I hate this. It feels awkward. I'm not a chatty person myself, but having people talking around me makes me feel like "I'm in the right place, I'm not lost."

Although maybe I'm lost after all, whether anyone talks or not. I mean, what am I doing here, looking for something when I don't know what to look for? It's not like the 39 clues are important to me whatsoever. I'm not THAT interested in world domination. In fact, I think it's stupid.

And the question that has been bugging me all the time comes up again. Why the hell I pick the clue hunt at the will-reading?

I clutch my wooden sword tighter as if it can reassure me that I'm in the right path. I haven't left my Sachi a single moment. It's as if it's the only thing that reminds me of myself. It's not like I've lost my identity or anything, but this clue hunt just doesn't feel right. And my precious old wooden sword is everything that's right.

Not long ago, on the way to National Aeronautical Museum, Tristan asked me, "Do you play kendo?"

"Yeah."

"I never find sports exciting, but you seem to like it a lot. You've been holding the wooden sword all the time."

"Yeah, I mean, I'm not that good at anything else, but I like kendo very much and I'm pretty good at it, so I often practice when I have nothing to do. I can't practice without the sword, can I?"

"What do you call your sword?"

"Eh?"

"I mean, isn't a sword like a soul mate to its owner? I heard swordsmen always name their blades."

"I guess so. Most do name their swords. But this is just a toy wooden sword after all."

"But it's your sword. You should name it."

"Er…," I paused. I thought maybe naming my sword was a nice idea. My mind spun so fast, looking for a suitable name. My memory went back to my childhood. When Hamilton started to read, he liked to show off to me, Madison, and Reagan who still couldn't make out a single word by reading anything aloud to us. One day he read a manga that came from nowhere. _There is the name for my sword_, I thought.

"_Sachi _means happiness," little Hammer's shrill voice echoes in my head. Every little kid is such an angel. Hammer was no exception; before he starts robbing our toys and grows up into a bully, that's it.

"Sachi. I'll name my sword Sachi."

The food arrives. You know what? We're all thankful that I order five meals. This restaurant is so stingy. I bet one portion can't even fill a half-full person! But at least it tastes nice… Yum…

"So what should we say to Aunt Isabel? We can't go into the script room and we're not going to find anything from the blueprint and models," Jason asked Kevin.

"Nah, you ask the wrong person! Do you think that snake would let us go if we just smirk and tell her there's nothing about Shevell?" Kevin asks back.

"No, she wouldn't," Jason sighs, "Isn't there really any way to get into the script room?"

I swallow one spoonful of risotto, then turn to the two boys, "Why don't you guys just sneak into the script room?"

I didn't mean anything by that, really. I'm just babbling. But it seems that everyone takes me seriously since they all turned to me with strange look.

"What?"


	10. Chapter 10

10. THE SCRIPT ROOM

We are all sitting on the floor in the cozy Knight's Inn room at Atherton, watching Kevin sketching on a piece of paper. He's unexpectedly good at it. We are making the plan of Shevell's house to find the best way to sneak into the script room.

Yeah. It's decided. We REALLY are infiltrating the museum.

I'm so going into jail.

When I suggested sneaking into the museum at lunch, I didn't mean it, it's just a random idea! Okay, I mean it, but I didn't mean to get myself involved! I get it that the clue hunt is everything, but do we really have to cross the legal boundary? What if somebody notices us? What if we're caught in the act? Seriously, this is horrible. I've known that the clue hunt is crazy from the first time, but I didn't expect it might make me a criminal. Well, only for trespassing, but still…

Oh, wait. The Holts tried to burn me in Grandma Grace's house. Arson it's criminal, isn't it?

Bugger. I REALLY should have picked the money.

But since I've messed it all up, maybe I'd better have fun. It's kinda exciting, like playing spies.

Only this is not a game. This is real.

"I thought the window is over there, not here," Tristan points out on some spots on the sketch?

"What? Gosh, I have to erase it all…," Kevin complains.

"Can't you just cross it or something? It's just a sketch after all, it doesn't have to be perfect, Kev," Jason advises.

"It might be just a sketch, but sketch is still ART!" Kevin talks back as he looks for the eraser.

They can argue as much as they like. I'll just get my phone. The good thing is that this place's got wi-fi. The last time I could find internet, I had to look up for the clue. I open the browser and type .

Once my page is loaded, I find comments stacking up.

Okay, I admit it. The comments are stacking up, but all those comments were from two people.

Half were from Reagan, asking if I'm still alive. It's a wonder she remember asking me this since she was one of those who plotted to burn me alive.

Maybe she didn't want it to be so. Maybe she tried to stop it or something…

I HOPE she tried to stop it or something. I mean, Reagan's my only friend.

I hesitate before I hit 'reply' button.

In the end, I give her a simple yes.

I scroll down through all the comments. The rest come from Henry Blair, the leader of Thompson Falls kendo club. His message reminds me of something REAL important.

_What the hell do you mean by 'travelling round the world'? The final match is NEXT WEEK! I'll kill you if you're not back for it!_

God. I totally forgot.

My club is participating in a regional competition. I made it to the final. And the final is next week.

I know quite well that the clue hunt isn't going to end by next week.

Let's just forget it. I might be imprisoned by that time anyway.

"Do you get it, Cailin?" Jason startles me, "W-what?"

"The plan."

"Er, could you please repeat it again?"

He sighs, "So, we'll sneak in tonight, when the museum is closed. Tristan and I will sneak into the script room through the window over here," he points on a certain area of the sketch, "It will be locked, but hopefully it's just an ordinary lock. We might be able to pick it. Once we get inside, we'll search the documents. You and Kevin will stand guard. If anyone comes, Kevin can create distraction. If it doesn't work, you confront them."

Confront? he doesn't mean he wants me to kick any intruder's as, does he?

"W-what? Confront? Can't I just search the documents with you guys?"

"You're the one with the weapon," Tristan ogles my Sachi.

God. This is bad. If the police comes, I'll definitely be the first one caught.

I've tried to get myself out of the trouble, I really try, but I fail nonetheless. So here I am, hiding behind a pine tree in Richard Shevell's garden in the middle of the night. Looking out for possible danger.

"Hoahm," Kevin who has been standing beside me yawns, "This is so boring!"

"Yeah," I agree, "I think no one's coming around…"

I HOPE no one's coming around. Seriously, this place is getting rather creepy. I mean, it's real dark and it's real cold and it's real quiet. If I were alone here, I would run back to the Knight's Inn and snuggle up. If anybody comes around, it only adds up to my nightmare.

"So take care, okay?" I hear Kevin says

"What?" I turn towards him. No one's there. I look around. There's still no one.

I'm. Alone. Here.

"Kevin?" I call. Maybe he sees something, so he goes to see what it is, "Hello?"

No response.

Then I saw a figure in the darkness, walking towards the house. Maybe it's him. I run towards that figure, "Why you—"

The figure turns. Just then I notice that that figure is not Kevin at all.


End file.
